


What if...

by Luca_Crimson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter is Salazar Slytherin, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Sassy Harry, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7426456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luca_Crimson/pseuds/Luca_Crimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...Harry Potter was Salazar Slytherin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sealed Fangs

**Author's Note:**

> For readers of my other stories, and those who want to become readers of my other stories, here is the updated updating schedule, if you can call it a schedule, that is. I will simultaneously post three long running stories including this one. That means I have three flag ships of which I will try to update at least one every week. I am still open for requested one-shots (just send me the Character and/or relationship I should focus on, along with a prompt or theme you would like to be included, the more elaborate the theme the more likely it is that I can procure something that fits you tastes).  
> I am updating how my muse allows me to. So I might write five chapters in a row for one story. That does not mean I have abandoned the others, I am just building up creativity for the next chapter. This way I am providing people with regular updates and avoid writer’s block from writing too much in a too small amount of time.  
> The titles of my three main stories are:  
> What if ...  
> “The Stigma of the Wind” – series  
> “New World Coming”, which will likely become a series as well

Harry Potter watched the Boa Constrictor slither away from him. Some part of him felt incredible for having set the lethal snake on Dudley. That same part was contemplating (where had that word come from?) to just follow the snake. It was the part of him that had let him talk to the snake in the first place.

He felt like he had forgotten something important. Something vital. But that feeling stopped the moment he saw his livid uncle walk towards him.

 

The phoenix-holly-wand may have accepted him, chosen him. And he was very grateful for that. But a part of him was warring against the rest, fighting with everything it got against such an incredibly light wand. He wanted to rush back there and demand a customized wand. Maybe yew wood and thestral hair… or Japanese maple with dragon heart string…preferably from a Chinese Fireball. At that point Harry stopped short. Where were all these thoughts coming from?

The feeling of not being able to recall something unbearably precious filled him. He stuffed that emotion away as Hagrid whisked him away from Diagon Alley.

 

“And Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness.” The hat said.

Of course it would. Wait…no. “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.” Harry chanted under his breath. The hat’s confusion spilled over into his thoughts. The young wizard kept on chanting. “Well…” the hat gave in. “then better be:”

“GRYFFINDOR!” the last word was shouted into the hall. Harry tried to convince himself that the mutter of “At least Godric’s spirit will be able to protect you there” was a part of his imagination.

 

What was he doing? What? What? What was he doing? He did something stupidly reckless. Something stupidly…stupidly…Gryffindor… Well, was that not something to be expected? He was in the house of lions after all…But still…Quidditch seemed like a needlessly dangerous activity to participate in…(And merlin be damned, where were all these fancy words coming from?) Luckily no one had noticed that the Rememberall had shone bright red when he caught it.

 

The Malfoy heir started to get on his nerves. The blonde had no qualities but ambition that would make him suitable for the house of snakes. Such lack of decorum…(confronting him in the entrance hall about a broom?) and his utter lack of creativity (that plot with the midnight duel…Harry was still angry that he had not seen that one coming from miles away).

 

The raven head watched his female friend scan through the books that might clue them who Nicholas Flamel was. She reminded him so much of Rowena, it was truly stunning. In a few years she might even be able to give Rowena a run for her money, probably even earlier in the physical appeal department. Wait… Rowena? He knew no Rowena! The only time he ever even heard the name was from the Hat’s mouth, when he introduced Rowena Ravenclaw as the Founder of the house of Ravens.

Once more he tried to push the feelings of loss, despair and longing away that always flooded him when he felt like he forgot something again. It was a common feeling by now anyways.

 

By now he realized that Snape was probably the only Slytherin worthy of the title. The man was cunning and his little farce of hating Harry’s guts was convincing for everyone, even Harry would have believed it, had he not seen the rueful smile the potions master had given him when he thought Harry was not looking…

 

The face of Voldemort had filled him with disgust. How had his bloodline come to…this. It probably was the incest, most of the time it was incest. When Quirrell had lunged at him he had called fiendfyre to his hands (Dumbledore had later explained him that it was his mother’s love…Ridiculous. But Dumbledore thought him a boy of eleven years, not the master of the dark arts he truly was…What had he been thinking about again?)…the poor man did not stand a chance. As the wraith of Lord Voldemort (and wasn’t that a truly fitting name “Flight from Death” what a coward…) left his host to flee, there had been a trapping spell on the tip of Harry’s tongue. But the energy drain from his earlier usage of Fiendfyre had caught up with him.

When he woke up, the only feeling left within him was the same old knowledge of having forgotten half his life.

 

The house elf was abused, that much was obvious. And incredibly brave (Godric would have loved that wouldn’t he?) to go behind his masters backs. Still, Harry was beyond irritated, for the elf’s trick had almost gotten him expelled…

 

He smiled at Hermione. The muggleborn girl had grown on him much more than Ron managed to, probably because of said ginger’s atrocious table manners. Without getting noticed he sneaked the books on pureblood etiquette and traditions as well as a muggleborn social guide to the magical community into her book bag. Knowing his bookish friend she would devour these books (they ironically were much too expensive to be affordable for a normal muggle household to be of any use for a muggleborn looking for them, typical wizarding hypocrisy) and use their wisdom to integrate herself better into the wizarding world.

Malfoy had caused some trouble and Harry had seen the little black book the blonde Lord had sneaked into Ginny Weasley’s cauldron…

 

“Mudbloods you’re next!” Harry could have strangled Malfoy right then and there. Not only were people like him responsible for damaging the Dark’s – and by extension Slytherin’s – reputation irreparably, but his ideology was just so wrong. Slytherin’s teachings had become so corrupted over the centuries, it pained him to see the house of Snakes in such a dreadful condition.

 

The voice in the walls scared him, yet at the same time seemed so familiar. It was like the voice of a long lost friend calling out to him. But the voice spoke of Harry’s untimely demise, which was terrifying him.

 

Parselmouth. A speaker. He spoke the language of Slytherin’s heirs.

_“Hey, you know, hearing you hissing like that is just so…” a groan ended the sentence. The memory was distant and cracking like an old movie. He could not see anything. But the less than satisfactory sight was of no concern, because he could lose himself in that voice, could listen to that voice for hours. Like gravel, yet with an underlying smoothness. Maybe pebbles rounded by a wild rivers waters. How strange, a watery analogy when the owner of the voice was fire itself. Dangerous and easily burning the fingers of anyone who dared to play with him. Not that these risks mattered, for if one managed to tame HIS flames, the prize would blow any expectations out of the water, watery analogy once more not intended. Not that anyone but him would ever get to that point, to the point close enough where he could see the prize. And he loved these games of resistance. The fights, the insults…everything!_

“Harry? Harry…mate are you alright?” Harry’s world snapped back into focus, confronting him with Ron’s confusion and Rowena’s worry. Hermione’s worry. Not Rowena. Never Rowena. Rowena was…de- not someone he knew.

_“You have to return!” chocolate brown locks fell into her face, hiding her sky blue eyes. “Ric…he isn’t alright. Far from it. He…he is suffering. Please. You have to return.” She sank to her knees, staining her elegant blue robe with the mud of his garden._

_“Do you think I am not pained? I miss him! Miss him more than you could ever fathom. I love him. Love him more than life itself! But I cannot return. Not until the curse is lifted!” His heart clenched at the thought of him. He who was like fire. But he would not shed any tears. Because he had none left._

He woke up in his bed in Gryffindor tower. Hermione was next to him, reading a book. The setting sun fell onto her hair, making it seem like molten chocolate. Her eyes shone like sapphires in the golden light. A book was on her lap, it was the book he had gifted her.

“Ron is down at dinner. It thought you might want company once you woke up. Thanks for the book by the way.” With that she turned back to “Pureblood etiquette and traditions – a guide to social mingling” leaving Harry enough room for thoughts. “Did you ever lift the curse?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. Hermione stared at him, shell-shocked. Then her gaze softened. “We did. But when I wanted to delay the happy message, they told me you had died the day before.” Harry closed his eyes again.

When he awoke once more, Hermione was gone and the boy wrote off the encounter as a very vivid dream…

 

_Vivid red hair, messy as always, spilled over the cushions. The unruly braid of longer hair at the back of his head reached the owner’s hip. It had become half undone during the night and the crimson strands splayed across the person’s back. The person himself laid flat on his stomach, arms crossed beneath the pillows. The tanned skin was riddled with his thin silvery scars, drawing an irrational yet sensual pattern across the redhead’s lithe yet muscular body. With thin, elegant fingers he followed the ones he himself caused in one of their many fights. He slowly, still drowsy with sleep, brushed the red hair aside to reveal black tattoos of Celtic symbols. They were a complex ward system that protected the person wearing it from almost anything. He would know, after all he was the one who inked the honey coloured skin like this._

_Awoken from his touches, the person’s head turned sideways, giving him a perfect view of a strong profile – straight nose, strong jaw, swift brows – almond shaped eyes slowly fluttered open. Jade eyes (and weren’t they magnificent? Weren’t they gorgeous? Weren’t they the most precious colour? Yes, of course they were. They were so incredibly precious to him that he himself changed his favourite colour into green, for Magic’s sake he gave his house that colour!) lit up at the sight presented to them: Both of them together in his bed. White sheets and fur comforters had kept them warm during the night, giving them a small island of comfort, hidden by the beds canopy, in their chilly room. He laid down again, jade eyes following him. Their pupils where slits, reminding him of a cat – ironic since the lion was one of the few cats with circular pupils. He felt a small smile grace his features which was answered by a blinding grin. So beautiful, so perfect. Why could this moment not last forever?_

“Harry!” Hermione’s hiss rose Harry from slumber. “Lockhart has called you up like five times already!” Heat shot into his face, yet he forced it down, trying to look attentive. What had that dream been about?

 

Years later Harry would still shudder at the mere mention of the Polyjuice Potion disaster…the only positive thing he had gotten out of that was seeing the Slytherin common room. It had been a calming draught for his frayed nerves.

 

At some point Harry simply gave up on trying to make sense of the memories that had started assaulting him _everywhere_. In the hallways, during meals, in class, in the tower, when playing Quidditch, as he said, everywhere.

And the voice in the walls kept on hissing about his brutal death…

 

_But I can show you._

_No thank you. I’d rather not be fed lies to suit your purpose._

_Who are you? You are not Harry Potter._

_Oh but I am. He is just me without memories. But I am working on that. As for you, you are a disgrace and simply not worth my time. Spouting lies about dark ideology and killing the only reason we are not inbred morons, dishonor on you Tom Marvolo Riddle. Or should I say…Lord Voldemort?_

 

Dumbledore left, Hagrid got imprisoned, they followed the spiders, Hermione got petrified (still her cleverness helped them greatly without her being actually there…typical), Ron was in hysterics over Ginny’s disappearance. Lockhart turned out to be a fraud, not that Harry was overly surprised.

 

Harry followed the tunnel towards the chamber’s entrance. The snakes at the door woke some more memories, before he could be pulled into the fragments and snippets of a life long gone, he stepped through the door into the Chamber of Secrets.

 

The Hat whispered in Harry’s mind. “Rowena knew this would happen. That is why I can help you now…” Seconds later Harry pulled the silver sword with rubies out of the Sorting Hat. The basilisk charged towards him again.

“I am sorry.” Harry whispered in Parsel, hoping the giant serpent could hear him now. The boy buried the blade into the roof of the snake’s mouth. “I am so so sorry. Goodbye my friend.” He felt the basilisk fang in his arm. The pain caused by the venom.

 

He ignored Riddle’s self-righteous droning, for Merlin’s sake the boy was overly annoying with his witless megalomaniac monologues, so much wasted potential…

Fawkes sat on his shoulder and the phoenix’ tears cleansed Harry’s blood, healing so much more than the poisonous wound. The malnutrition, the physical abuse… the amnesia…

_A green-eyed, red-haired boy dragged him out of the muddy smelly pond the villagers had thrown him into. The redhead threw a deadly glare at the few peasant boys that still lingered around, hoping to catch a look of the “witch boy”. Then he turned back to the boy he just saved. “The name is Godric Gryffindor. What’s yours?” The drenched boy glanced behind his saviour, seeing the village boys scurrying away. “I don’t know. I think it’s “demon” or “Fiend”.” Godric laughed. “No way! You are way to pretty to be a creature of hell!” The redhead grinned. He wondered if the redhead was blind because there was no way his bruised and dirty form could be called “pretty”.“Since I saved you, I should give you a new name…how do you like “Salazar”?”_

_Salazar was fascinated by Godric. Ever since he was saved that day by the pureblood heir, his life had become vibrant with colour. Most of it came from Godric. Godric. Who was brave and bold, strong of will and heart, fighting for what he thought was right, never wavering or doubting. Godric who was also exasperatingly reckless, who charged in and thought later, who was way too passionate about things and still remained soft-hearted to everyone and everything. Godric was like fire, warming on a cold winter night, blazing hot when angered and expressive, oh so expressive, always wearing his heart on his sleeve and his emotions written across his face. If Godric was like fire, Salazar was icy water. Never betraying much of his thoughts or feelings, biting sarcasm and cold disposition. Carrying a grudge in his depths._

_While he may be fascinated by Godric, he was also constantly furious with his travel companion. Godric flirted and sometimes even mock-courted the ladies in towns and villages. Yet it was a fortunate circumstance that he did, otherwise they would have never met Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff._

_“My friends. I think we should build a school.” Said Godric on day. And the rest, they say, is history. Rowena was too happy to give her knowledge to new generations, Helga was excited to take care of children. And Salazar…well…he could never refuse Godric anything, no matter how hare brained (in case of any doubt, please be reminded of the incident with the sleeping dragon…)._

_Salazar was a bit shy around Helga. The Hufflepuff Founder was way too nice for Salazar, bringing the young man near a nervous breakdown (he had no idea how to deal with motherly kindness, or any kindness…something that had never bothered him with Godric). Rowena was another matter though She was much more than just pretty, she was clever and had enough wits to keep up with him, she was his best friend, a spot Godric once held firmly. But during their years of puberty, Salazar had realized that Godric had long surpassed being just a friend to him and if he was completely honest (which he always was in his mind because lying to oneself was stupid and even dangerous) he had always been more than a friend._

_More than a friend. How ridiculous. Friends were much more reliable than a lover. Because lovers could leave you if they got bored of you, but friends, true friends, would always stay with you – unless you terribly betrayed them, but that was not something Salazar planned on doing._

_But he was losing track of his thoughts, something he would not allow to happen. And even if, it would not change a thing, since there simply was no changing the fact that he had been in love with Godric Gryffindor before he even knew what “love” even was._

_It was the night before the first class of students – hopefully the first of many – was to arrive. They had sent the letters to the wizarding families and employed the goblins’ help to scour the villages for muggleborns. They also invited the children of other magical races, which had been happily accepted. It would strengthen the bonds of the magical community. The goblins had been so excited that they had send one of their princes, Ragnok, to Hogwarts to teach Ancient Runes and Warding._

_And in such a magical night, when the castle was quietly humming with magic – their magic –, its stones giving off such a content and slightly excited aura, in such a night of anticipation, Salazar could not find sleep. So he wandered down to the Great Hall and asked one of the elves to bring him some much needed treacle tarts, his comfort food._

_He was well aware that the situation with Godric would only become worse and worse. Yesterday he even flinched when his friend had tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Godric – no matter how oblivious he outside of combat – was bound to notice something. But how could he hide these feelings? They ate him up from the inside and rendered him unable to think of anything else once he started thinking about them. It took everything he had to just…stay away._

_With his fork he started to take the treacle tart. He hated these feelings. And he hated Godric for igniting them in the first place. But most of all he despised himself for not being able to reign them in._

_He was drunk. Godric was too. So they were in a situation where they both knew they were drunk but could also rest assured that the other was equally inebriated. The only upside to this: They were in Godric’s rooms and not in a pub. Not much of an upside considering that meant Salazar was surrounded by the redhead’s magic feeling it against his skin, which was not a good thing. Really. Not. A. Good. Thing. At. All…No matter how close to Godric he felt right now._

_At least the public humiliation would not be as great._

_He found that fighting with Godric – physically or verbally – was a great way to vent his frustration while also pushing his friend away. A really great way. The prolonged bodily contact during their more violent fights was a nice bonus, as was the furious flame that lit up Godric’s eyes when Salazar rebutted his ideas just to spite him._

_A really great way indeed._

_The kiss was an accident. Salazar had lost his footing during the sparring match – one of the few friendlier ones that had quickly turned into a serious duel – but had been fast enough to pull Godric with him. They both had hit the ground hard and when he tried to get up immediately afterwards, he had smashed his mouth accidentally against Godric’s. So yes, the kiss was an accident. The part that followed, the passion caused by adrenaline, that part was most definitely NOT an accident._

_Suddenly Godric pushed him away. His eyes blown wide in panic. “Don’t tell anyone!”_

_“Why are you afraid that Helga will find out? That this will ruin your chances with her?”_

_Godric’s eyes flickered with hope for a second. “You thi-…know that I have a thing for Helga?”_

_“It is disturbingly obvious.”_

_“Well, she doesn’t know, so please don’t tell her.”_

_With a grunt Salazar accepted, however before he left he whispered: “You owe me, Gryffindor. You owe me, big time.”_

_“So you used my misconception of your feelings to avoid confessing to me. But why? I thought it was painfully clear that I was attracted to you as well?”_

_“Well, I thought that you kissed me back, but I chalked that up to wishful thinking.”_

_“And you thought I was going to make fun of you, which is why you told me not to tell anyone…”_

_“Yes.”_

_“We are idiots.”_

_“Yes…but we are each other’s idiots.”_

_“Why? Why did you do this? Godric…” Salazar looked at the young girl – just graduated from Hogwarts._

_“If I cannot have him, no one shall!” she hissed._

_And Salazar left. Fled. Far away. So that he would never be in Godric’s presence again. Touching Godric meant to slowly kill the one he loved. And he would not do that. Never._

Riddle was still babbling about his plans.

The basilisk Fang was stabbed through the diary.

And in Harry Potter’s place rose Salazar Slytherin, although, there had never been much of a difference after all.

TBC


	2. Broken Claws

Ginny Weasley was hiding. They could not see her. She could not see them. But if she stopped focusing on the beating of her heart (what a scared sound…so fast, so loud. Why would it not slow down), then she could hear them.

She had not wanted to eavesdrop. It was against any manners she had been taught and it betrayed the trust she had been given. No, they had come after her. She had been in the kitchen shortly past midnight, having woken up from a terrible nightmare. It had involved a black-haired young man, she could not remember his face and a brunette woman with the sharpest and most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. They both had been chastising a red-head. It had been her job to tend to the red-head’s wounds that was all she could remember before the scene before her started crumbling, leaving only a face of a young girl, twisted in jealously. The dream itself had been as bad, she had had worse. But it was the bitter, longing aftertaste it had left and the feeling that the dream was not a product of her imagination but an actual memory.

So she had sneaked out of her room and into the kitchen, hoping to find some chocolate or anything edible which would take away at least a bit of that emptiness (inexplicable, really, normally she enjoyed having some rare alone time).

And then she had heard the sounds of people arriving. They were headed for the kitchen, three of them. In her foolishness, she had thought that her parents had come home and started looking for a place to hide, she was not supposed to be out of bed in the dead of night. She had dove into the cupboard underneath the sink, knowing that no one would look for her in there, as long as she did not make any noise. It had been too late when she realized that it was not her parents who had come into the kitchen, at least not both of them.

“Well, how was the boy, Albus?” her father’s voice! How? Why? Was it even her father’s? This oily and cold tone, the tone she only had heard on Lucius Malfoy when she had visited her father at work once. Why was her father using the tone of voice, so much associated with a man he despised?

“He was just as I wanted him. Beaten, abused, weak. He will be easy to mould, once I send Hagrid to “free” him from his muggle family.” It was the headmaster! Albus Dumbledore? What was he doing here? In their home? Speaking with her father about a boy who apparently was in great danger? As if it was nothing?

“Do tell, Albus, what other things those muggles did?” she did recognize this voice. And she hoped she had not. Her mother.

“Oh, nothing much, I told them to deny the boy food if he did anything “abnormal” and to lock him in his “room” if he misbehaves. His room of course it not a room but a cupboard under the stairs. A nasty place, really, but just perfect for my purposes.” The old man replied.

“Surely, you must have put some spell on these muggles, even they must have some sort of moral code they follow. Surely it would not condone child abuse? And even so, your magical signature would be all over them! How did you manage?” Her mother kept questioning, her tone worried. Something was off about that tone. Ginny would know, she had heard that tone often enough. Her mother used it to casually ask Fred and George how they planned their next pranks. It was interested with a bit of worry for the target of the prank.

“See, that is the part I had also problems with, however I believe that problem had solved itself.”

“How so?” asked her father, now in a kissing-up type of voice that made Ginny want to gag.

“You see, Petunia hates all magic for the simple reason that she does not possess it. As it is, she would hate her nephew but would never let a hand be raised against him, he is her sister’s child and no matter how much she hates magic, her love for Lily outweighs any negative feelings. However, young Harry carries a Horcrux inside of him. Now, a Horcrux is a dark piece of magic, possibly the darkest there is. You kill someone and use the backlash of magic to split your soul in half, keeping one half of the soul and binding the other to and object of your choice. Of course, Harry does not carry half of Voldemort inside of him. No, young Voldemort created several of these Horcruxes and Harry simply holds a single shard, nothing that would be detected but enough to create some interesting side effects.” Dumbledore sounded disgustingly pleased with himself. Ginny wanted to scream, where was all the Gryffindor courage her family prided themselves in? Why were her parents not interfering? And Harry? Surely they did not mean Harry _Potter_?

“What would those side effects be, Albus?” Her mother’s tone was now very interested, with an underlying note of gentleness. Ginny was not fooled. It was the voice her mother used when she knew she was close to getting the information she wanted.

“Oh, nothing much. The boy would most certainly have a mind connection with Voldemort, something I intend to use to the fullest. And as Horcruxes are downright fiendish, they start affecting their surroundings, in this case, Harry’s relatives. They lower inhibitions on negative thoughts and emotions and push back any positive memory. In short, Harry himself makes people hate him. He himself is his torturer.” Ginny’s eyes finally had adapted to the darkness of the cupboard, now she saw the small red light of the Ministry recording device attached to the inside of the cupboard. For someone who did not know where to look, it was practically invisible.

“Well, what are the next steps in your plans then?” her father asked, his voice showing just how eager he was to help with whatever “plans” Dumbledore had cooked up.

“Why don’t we sit down in my office? I will tell you there?...Molly?” Dumbledore asked, by the looks of it already halfway through the living room.

“I’m afraid you will have to meet without me this time, I have to prepare breakfast.” Her mother said.

The fireplace flashed green two times, Ginny could see it through the cupboard door, now that her mother was no longer blocking it.

Slowly the door opened. Her mother’s face came into view. She gave a startled noise. “Ginny! What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Ginny said in a small voice.

“Oh Ginny, my darling girl…I never wanted you to hear this…”

“Mum…what is going on?” Ginny whimpered, hoping to finally understand.

“Dumbledore he…he isn’t what he seems, Ginny. This man is dangerous, many of his plans involve our family, mainly Ron and you. I cannot condone this, but with your father being the Head of House and practically eating out of Dumbledore’s hand…I just don’t know what to do…So I collect any evidence, so that one day, this whole plot will come to light.”

“I can help you!” Ginny said.

“No, my dear, I’m afraid you can’t. Just promise me, that you’ll keep this secret.”

“But mom-”

“No! Please, Ginny, I’m afraid Ron and Percy are already lost, please, please, please, do not get caught by Dumbledore as well!”

Later, when Ginny laid in her room, she thought of what had happened. Her father aiding Dumbledore in his villainous plot…wait am moment! How did these words come into her mind? They sounded old, as in, medieval times old. No one used these words anymore. Why did her mind provide them like this?

When sleep finally reclaimed her, she was thrown into a wild mesh of dreams, dreams that seemed like memories…

_She was working at the tavern. In this rowdy bar, nobody paid attention when weird things happened. They mainly chalked it up to their drunkenness later on or that someone else did it and not her. Even if they caught her, she knew how to turn the flames that were supposed to burn her into harmless tickles. But if she was caught again, she would have to flee the town and be on the move again. Whilst she had no problems for living in the forest for prolonged periods of time, she would rather not leave this town behind her. Her reason for staying was simple: The gorgeous brunette girl, a bit younger than herself, of noble birth and with an aura that drew her in._

_Sure, it was unlikely that anything would ever happen between them, with the new religion slowly conquering the country. And she would not be able to tell the brunette of her magic. But, a girl could dream. Such nice dreams they were._

_A man, obviously drunk, stood a little too close for comfort to the brunette girl. Blue eyes sharpened, like chips of ice, the man’s hand – which had been hovering over the brunette’s rear – suddenly snapped back, as if he had been burned._

_“Witch!” the man roared. Luckily, before anything could happen, the brunette had drawn a slender piece of wood from her dress, muttering something under her breath. The man’s face went slack, he fell onto the floor next to the brunette. The other guests looked up from their glasses and card games for a bit, but no one bothered enough to check on the man. The evening was too far progressed for anyone to care. At least that was what Helga had thought. She was proven wrong by the tingle of the tavern door and the shadow of a man running into the night, probably to the next church._

_Unfortunately for her the church was right across the tavern, running after the man would be futile, as she would overpower him in a public place. But how could she help the brunette?_

_The tavern door opened again, some member of the cleric, the drunken man who had fled and no less than five guards stood in the entrance of the bar. “There she is!” the drunk screamed, pointing at the brunette._

_The clergyman stepped forward: “Lady Ravenclaw! Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected you to be fraternizing with the devil!”_

_Helga snorted._

_“Do you have anything to say, barmaid?” the drunk – she now remembered his face, he and his friend were known in all the public houses around here for harassing females – raged._

_“Only that our holier-than-thou priest most likely did imagine quite other things concerning Lady Ravenclaw, if your servants’ gossip is of any worth. Secondly, you and your friend are known to force yourselves upon young ladies. If they reject you, you run for the church, claiming them to be witches. Also you are clearly drunk and currently disturbing my business, so if you don’t mind, either buy something to drink or leave.”_

_“How…” the drunk spluttered. The priest seemed to have no such verbal problems: “Seize them! Both of them!” he screeched._

_Helga had been prepared for that opportunity, so she grabbed the battle axe she kept under the counter (a gift from her grandfather, who had come into this country from the north), swinging at the guards and charging guests. Without even breaking a sweat she used her axe and glowing runes to immobilize her opponents, until only the priest was left. A bright golden rune flickered to life between the two pointed ends of her double winged axe: “Run!” she whispered. And the cleric ran like a bat out of hell, how ironic._

_With a swift turn, Helga faced the brunette again, whose face was a mix of surprise, curiosity and something that may have been delight, but it could also have been Helga’s wishful thinking. “Impressive.” The brunette said in a hushed tone._

_“Why, thank you, Lady Ravenclaw.” Helga said, happy to finally know the other girl’s name._

_“No need to use my title. For someone who just saved my life, I believe it is more appropriate for you to call me Rowena. Now, if you could only tell me your name?”_

_Helga grinned, this was going better than expected. “Helga Hufflepuff at you service. But I believe you would have managed on your own quite well, milady.”_

_Rowena’s cheeks turned slightly pink, but it could have been a trick of the light. “I highly doubt that. My abilities are more of the scholarly kind. This combat magic you just displayed is something I have never seen before…”_

_“My family descends from the Vikings. We still practise runic magic.”_

_“Interesting…”_

_The rest, they say, is history. After having heard Rowena’s tale of how Helga had saved her life, the Ravenclaws were only too happy to grant their daughter’s request of traveling with Helga. The Hufflepuff had protested for a bit but the chance to spend time with the brunette, maybe getting to know her better, was just too tempting to refuse. So they set out into the world, looking for adventure and letting adventure find them._

Ginny was torn from sleep abruptly. Downstairs her mother was screaming at her brothers to get ready for the trip to King’s Cross. She would only be able to go to Hogwarts in another year, but if she went with them today, she might be able to catch a glimpse of Harry Potter…

 

King’s Cross was packed. They went through the muggle entrance, for reasons unknown to Ginny but she would not doubt for a minute that all of this happened under Dumbledore’s orders. Her brothers stepped through the barrier one by one. Soon only Ron was left. Ginny knew that Ron still knew nothing of Dumbledore’s plans, but she doubted that Ron would be much opposed to them, if he ever found out. Her youngest older brother was fed up with being poor. If poor accounted much in this day and age, Ginny had lived under worse circumstances more often than not. (No.no.no. those were only dreams, Ginny, they are not real! They never were real!)

A young boy with messy black hair and the greenest eyes to ever green had apparently followed them to the barrier. He was carrying a Hogwarts trunk and an owl. Even from afar Ginny could see that the boy was malnourished and in need of new clothes. He looked miserable. Their eyes met.

_A redhead had approached Rowena, holding himself proudly, but not obnoxiously so, still, Helga was annoyed that this stranger dared to woo Rowena with fancy, yet shallow compliments. She fought herself through the crowd that had gathered at the market place, towards her friend and the stranger. Just as she reached them, she heard Rowena say: “As flattered as I am by your charming words, Lord Gryffindor, I am afraid I have my eyes already set on another.” Had Helga not been glaring at the now identified Lord Gryffindor, she might have noticed the quick glance Rowena had thrown her. The redhead however did notice the short look and stepped back respectfully: “I understand, milady. Please excuse my inappropriate behaviour.” Green cat eyes twinkled with mischief and something else. Just as Helga was about to retaliate, another stranger interrupted them: “There you are, I have been scouring this whole market!”_

_The person had black, silky hair that would have reached his waist, had he not arranged it into an ornate, if a bit messy knot. His skin seemed unnaturally pale and golden eyes flitted over Helga and Rowena, assessing them and calculating all their movements. Yet, quicker than Helga expected, his face morphed into a pleasant expression: “I am so sorry for my companion’s behaviour. He must have interrupted the nice stroll you ladies were having. Please, if you would excuse us.”_

Now Ginny stood in front of her travel companion and friend, Salazar Slytherin. Sure, he looked quite different, with his eyes now being green and his hair a bit messier. But he was without a doubt the same person she had met so many lifetimes ago. Btu looking at Salazar also made her heart ache. He seemed to not have a good childhood in this life as well. His usually confident demeanour had vanished and it seemed as if he was trying to hide in his clothes. Their eyes met once more, no sign of recognition showed on Salazar’s face.

 

It was too late when Ginny realized that in this life her friend’s name was none other than Harry Potter. Maybe, she thought, maybe he cannot recognize me because Dumbledore messed with his memories…

There was some logic behind it, her dreams had started when she had turned ten and had grown more vivid each night. So if Dumbledore was blocking the memories…

WHAT WAS SHE THINKING? Those dreams were just that, dreams. No memories. Just dreams. She should finally stop thinking about them!

 

Over the next year Ginny came to realize that the dreams were no dreams. They were memories. And she had tried to deny them. Had tried to move on. But they had started plaguing her even during day time. At first she had felt awful for even considering this madness. Then she had visited Luna’s. Her blonde friend always seemed to know what was bothering her and wordlessly handed her a book: “Dreams or Memories? – a wizard’s guide to exploring your past life”

Even after she finished the book, she had tried to ignore the dreams. Until she had been alone one afternoon in the late autumn. The living room had started to feel a bit chilly, so she decided to light the fire place. However, after she had stacked up some wood, she realized that there was nothing to light a fire with. She had looked everywhere. Frustrated she had started poking at the stupid branches and thin sheet of left over ash. At some point she had drawn a few runes into the ash. As soon as she had removed her finger, the runes started to glow golden.

With a roar the fire sprang to life. Ginny stared at her hands. Then at the fire. Impossible! She could only do that in her dreams! But the flames slowly heating up the room proved the opposite. How? Had she been wrong after all? There was one way to find out…

Slowly Ginny got up from the floor and sprinted up into her room, grabbing a quill and ink. Then she ran downstairs, grabbing a saucer from the kitchen. Sitting down in the living room again, she smashed the saucer against the stone board above the fire place. Immediately, the china shattered. Taking the quill, Ginny slowly wrote out the runes for repairing. With a sound usually associated with glitter, the ceramic shards rose up and started to reassemble the saucer, until it was perfectly complete again, even the cracks in the paint had been fixed. With a soft clang the saucer landed on the floor.

 

It took Ginny a few months to sort out her memories and her new magic abilities. However soon after she had found her peace of mind again, she found herself at a loss of what to do. She had been given a new life. But why now? Why here? This was a period of peace, was it not?

The trip to Diagon Alley changed everything. She had met Harry again, who also seemed to be a bit more like Salazar than the last time she had seen him, maybe he was slowly remembering? But it was the Diary that really had shaken her up.

It had Salazar’s aura, or at least something similar to it. Maybe, she had thought, maybe, Harry could not remember who he was because that some of his being was locked inside this book? She had not written anything about her past life in it, but she slowly realized that the book was taking her magic. Still believing it to be part of Salazar’s consciousness she allowed it to happen.

Arguing with the Hat to put her into Gryffindor had been easy, especially since she let all of her walls down and told the Hat about her goal: Protect Harry/Salazar, find Rowena, find Godric and find out what caused their reincarnation.

Rowena was found pretty quickly. Hermione Granger. The girl looked a lot like Rowena, though a bit more bushy haired, but her eyes, those blue gems, they were still the same. Hermione was also fully aware of her past life, however when Ginny tried to approach her, the brunet had shook her head. Crushed, Ginny had left almost immediately. She had cried herself to sleep that night. But in the morning, she found a transfigured, never-wilting rose on her nightstand. Its blossom petals where blue and sprinkled with yellow and there was a black piece of stationary tied to it with a bronze ribbon.

_Patience, my love._

_I believe a certain snake would be more than upset,_

_If he happened to “get this party started” without him._

_Always and Forever_

_R_

It does not need to be said, but let it be known that Ginny’s days had been considerably brighter after that.

Then the black-outs started. Horrible things happened. It did not take her long to connect it to the Diary and when she ran a closer scan, she realized that it must be one of Salazar’s descendants. It was also a Horcrux! Deciding to get rid of the thing, she threw it into the girl’s toilet.

But, just her luck, the still not completely returned Salazar found it and started to write in it. Knowing that the Diary could do more harm to Harry’s already fragile mind, she grabbed the Diary back.

Unfortunately, the Horcrux had learned. It sealed her away, making her an onlooker in her own mind, so that she became a scared little girl that kept writing in the Diary.

Things had been blurry after that.

She finally found herself in possession of her body again, lying on the floor of the famous Chamber of Secrets, Harry, no Salazar, leaning over her.

“Greetings, Helga.”

“Greetings to you too, Salazar.”

“Sorry that I didn’t notice earlier.”

“Not your fault. I believe Dumbledore had a lot to do with it.”

“No surprise here, no wizards with pure intentions would leave a magical child with muggles that are convinced that magic is an abomination.”

At her glance he only said: “I’ll explain later.”

“Sal…I want my battle axe. I need to go and disembowel your heir.”

“I don’t know where it is. And my familiar is went crazy, because someone other than me woke him from hibernation, so I had to…Well, anyways, I already exterminated the part of Riddle from the Diary. But I believe that there are more Horcruxes out there. I also have Godric’s Sword, so until we can reclaim your axe from Gringotts, why don’t you use that?”

“Nah…we both know that Ric would flip his shit if there was even one scratch on his precious sword.”

“Luckily, any scratches I may have made are compensated by the basilisk poison that is now part of the sword’s repertoire of destructive abilities.”

“So, how about we tell these idiots up in the castle we’re still alive, then pick up Rowena and then we go M.I.A. for a bit until we got our things settled. I know that Row has some research to do, I need my axe, like I said and I believe you have some disowning to do.”

“Sounds like a plan, but first, how about you reapply your glamour?”

Helga looked down onto her shoulders, and true enough, instead of straight red tresses, golden waves flooded from her head onto her shoulders. With a sigh and a wave of her hand she turned them into the typical Weasley hair again.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Time is money, or however that saying goes.”

Standing up, she stomped out of the Chamber, Salazar trailing behind her. She noticed him picking up a small black egg.

“You are aware that breeding basilisks is highly illegal?” she said.

The raven head passed her: “I am Salazar Slytherin.”

As if that explained everything. But well, who knows…maybe it kind of did.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated.  
> Sorry for the delay, I was at Camp Nerd (at least I like to call it that) for two weeks and did not have sufficient enough WiFi for updating.


	3. Trapped Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back...back again.  
> But no seriously, I am apparently back in business? Don't know. I still cannot guarantee regular updates, so I have no idea if I truly am back...  
> (But don't tell the Stigma of the Wind Readers, they didn't get a new chapter yet...)  
> But yeah...I'll be around. Enjoy. Hopefully there's more to come.  
> There are also two new chapters of New World Coming for anyone who's interested.

From the first moment she could remember, Hermione Granger had been aware that she was not normal by any standards. On the one hand, people usually are not as intelligent as she was. There was simply no other way to put it. And she would not let other people tell her differently, just because she was younger than them. On the other hand, most people do not have magic. Yes, you have read correctly, from a very early age on Hermione had known what those abilities were. She even had learned to perfectly control them, with help of reason number three, on the figurative third hand, which was that most people do not remember their past life. Hermione did. At the beginning she had been scared out of her wits, but had easily regained them, as soon as her memories had returned. With little to no effort, she might add. Of course, there had been those rather nasty compulsions and blocking spells, but they had been woven for a girl with much less magical power.

In summary: Hermione Granger was a powerful Witch, reborn as a daughter of two of the nicest muggles to ever walk this earth.

So no one could really blame her when she was not even in the slightest surprised when her Hogwarts letter arrived. She was of course delighted, as she had anticipated the return to her beloved school and a reunion with her friends.

What friends you ask?

Well, she was Rowena Ravenclaw, what friends might she be talking about? Of course, they would most likely be not aware at all of their past lives, though Rowena was sure that such things righted themselves and if they did not, she most definitely had the power to right them herself.

 

Hermione as Rowena, Rowena as Hermione, tried to argue with the Sorting Head to put her into Gryffindor. The little aspects she had seen and heard of her friends so far pointed to Gryffindor being the most obvious choice. Of course, as anything created by the four of them, the Hat was stubborn. Only when Hermione lowered her mental shields and let Rowena shine through, did the Hat realize just who he had been arguing with. After a rather nice chat, the Hat announced her as a Gryffindor and let her join her new housemates.

Two month later almost all of her positive and confident attitude had been sucked from her. Godric was missing, Helga (her love, her precious badger, Helga, Helga, Helga – shut up brain, save your gushing for later!) was apparently too young to attend the school and do not, I repeat, do not get her started on Salazar. Once more the poor soul had been forced into a horrible childhood, had a heavy compulsion web around him, was infested with a Horcrux, and kept being sucked into an onslaught of his past life’s memories. And of course the whole “Boy-Who-Lived” thing, but no one really cared about that.

Of course, Salazar being confused and unaware was a new side to her best friend, it even made for some high class comical relief (mentally of course, she did not want to seem like a total…what was that word…ah – maniac). She was also pretty sure that Salazar would not mind, he would most likely share her amusement once he got free of those binds. Hermione, Rowena, whatever, she was both, well point being, she had almost laughed herself silly when she had caught Salazar’s utter terror when he got roped into the Quidditch team.

But she did dally all of her time with idle people (or rather Salazar) watching, as entertaining as that was. No. Her curiosity had awoken when her thoughts strayed as to why they had been reincarnated. Do not get her wrong, she loved being alive again and this time with all its luxuries and peace was simply delightful. But still, her inborn need to know was running amok. And let us not overlook the fact that Godric still made himself scarce. She had already several theories about that particular mystery. Her current favourite one was that Godric (who had survived them all, due to some miracle) had pulled some ritual stuff she had yet to find evidence for. That ritual caused them to be reborn into a time when they would be needed again (at least she believed that was a criterion, judging from the reduced curriculum alone, but with Godric it could be anything). Actually the Ritual Theory (yes, it deserved the Capital letters do not question her, she is smarter than you will ever be) was pretty logical, Godric was known to get himself into hell’s kitchen with his “Charge in first, think about the consequences later” policy, especially when Salazar was not around, since the ravenette made up 99,9% of Godric’s impulse control.

So yes, her days were busy, and her nights filled with dreams of her past, a delightful change of pace, first and foremost those with Helga, of course. Yes…the dreams of Helga were good (Mind! Get out of the gutter right now! You are needed elsewhere! Not to mention you are only eleven years old, what if some Legilimens comes along? How do you want to explain yourself?).

Of course, this being her, and that being Salazar, yes the whole general set-up of things, meant that dangerous, borderline lethal situations kept cropping up. After the troll on Halloween she stopped questioning things and simply started to enjoy the ride, keeping Salazar out of mortal terror most of the way.

Yet, as all good things, the peaceful times came to an end when the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort tried to steal the Philosopher’s stone (and was it not simply stupid to store a powerful, ancient artefact in a school full of curious minors? And then tell them where to look for it? And inciting them further by telling them they were not allowed to go there? How mind amputated could one person get? Oh, this was Dumbledore, the man who decided that trying to manipulate Salazar Slytherin was a good idea. Salazar would tear the man to shred when he found out. When being the operative word here.).

Thankfully Salazar must have regained a great deal of his powers, because soon after she observed the wraith of Voldemort flee the castle. That must have been painful, being forcefully evicted from their host’s body usually is for a parasite. Served the man right.

All in all she could say that it had been a rather successful year.

Her summer was also decently entertaining, especially once she reunited with Salazar. It turned even better when she recognized Ginny Weasley as Helga! At that moment she could have performed a tap dance of happiness, right there in public, dignity be damned. She was not overly surprised that Helga did not recognize her immediately, as her lover was quite busy sending worried glances at Salazar (who had still not regained his memories completely, but enough to gift her some handy pureblood custom books. She had to smile at that, Sal had always been awkward when showing affection to anyone other than Godric).

On the opening feast she witnessed Helga being sorted into Gryffindor. How ironic, all Founders come together in the house of the one Founder who is absent.

Later that night she saw Helga identify her, but she gestured her to stay away. Seeing her heartbroken expression, Rowena could not help herself and left a rose and a note, explaining her reasons and confirming her ongoing love for Helga.

Right on the next morning she got onto the task of retrieving Helga’s battle axe, something told her that her lover would want it back very soon. She also looked into the financial situation of all of their accounts, to her delight, the goblins had worked wonders to keep them intact and overflowing with gold. It would be good to have a monetary safeguard to fall back to, for she assumed Salazar would be fully with them again by the end of this year.

But then the Chamber of Secrets was opened (And seriously Sal? What madness were you in when you decided to connect the Chamber to the rest of the school? And what must have befallen the rest of us to allow you to do so?).

She tried to look for the source but to no avail, she was rather sure that Salazar’s heir was acting through another person, but she could not identify them.

Then things happened in quick succession. Blow, after blow, after blow. Suddenly Salazar was blamed for the incidents, a thought so ludicrous, Rowena did not even dare think it in fear of dumbing herself. She herself only escaped an attack narrowly. But she still decided to pretend to be petrified. She could use that time to do some research on Dumbledore, a topic she had avoided the last year and a half.

What she found was disgusting. Apparently their esteemed headmaster had no problem playing dirty and was rather loose with his wand. Rowena could grind her teeth merely brushing that thought, she would bet actual money that the compulsions around Salazar were also the old goat’s doing.

When Helga was taken to the Chamber, Rowena would almost have thrown all caution into the wind and gone down to save her lover herself. But luckily for a certain Heir of Slytherin, Salazar had already dragged Ronald and Lockhart of all people down there. Rowena waited until Madam Pomfrey had gone to bed and the air was clear, until she slipped out of bed and made her way down to the second floor Girl’s lavatory. And there she waited. She was not disappointed. A bit after midnight Fawkes (originally Godric’s familiar, then bound to Hogwarts herself) lifted Salazar, Helga, Ronald Weasley and Lockhart out of the tunnels, the latter two being unconscious.

“Took you long enough.” Rowena commented, examining her nails.

“Sorry, m’lady, I was trying not to get killed.” Snarked Salazar. Rowena smirked, it looked as if someone got his memories back.

“You were the one who wanted the world’s most lethal creature as a pet.” Sassed Rowena.

Salazar was about to retort, when Helga interrupted him. “Can’t you two just say “Nice to see you again” like normal people?”

The ravenette said “EW! Normal!” at the same time as Rowena declared “Of course I can! Which is why I got you this!” the brunet lifted Helga’s battle axe for the blonde to examine. The former Viking squealed and practically tackle hugged Rowena. “I knew there was a reason why I loved you!” she exclaimed. Such a wholehearted love confession almost distracted Rowena from Salazar slipping a black egg into his robe pockets.

“You are aware that breeding Basilisks is highly illegal in this day and age?!?!” Rowena’s voice was much more high-pitched than usual and very alarmed.

The ravenette shrugged. “He’s Salazar Slytherin.” Explained Helga, in a tone that suggested she was quoting the wizard directly.

“Well then, Salazar Slytherin, where to?” teased Rowena, linking arms with Salazar.

“I was thinking Gringotts? I believe we have some debts to settle.”

“Really?” inquired Helga in mock confusion, linking arms with the ravenette on the other side.

Laughing the trio made their way down the corridors, to the next fireplace. Gringotts would only be their first station of many. And once they were done there they would settle their debts and create as much mayhem along the way as possible.

After all, you only live twice, right?

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you will like this new story.  
> Please give your comments.


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